


Hereafter

by kibasniper



Series: Femslash February 2021 [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School
Genre: Canon Divergence, Eye Trauma, F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February 2021, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Memories, Moving On, Photographs, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rare Pairings, Regret, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29094837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibasniper/pseuds/kibasniper
Summary: The former leader of the Future Foundation's thirteenth division has a visitor in the form of her fellow branch head.
Relationships: Kirigiri Kyoko/Nanami Chiaki
Series: Femslash February 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2134674
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	Hereafter

**Author's Note:**

> femslash february 2021 time!! prompts supplied by femslashfeb on tumblr!
> 
> prompt 1: red

Nanami traced her fingers along the scar across her shoulder. It cut a coarse, jagged line through her skin. Mimicking it were several similar scars crisscrossing along the surface of her arms, legs, and abdomen. Rough patches of flesh met her cool fingertips as she idly massaged them, their color bordering on a dull scarlet, which she preferred when compared to their initial hue of an obscenely dark red.

A knock on her office door distracted Nanami from her daily bodily inspection. Nanami buttoned her white dress shirt and tugged it over her rounded shoulders. She sat back in her leather chair, the too big cushion shifting underneath her. Fixing a wrinkle in her pleated skirt, she called for them to enter.

The former fourteenth branch head greeted Nanami with a quick nod. Kirigiri held a manilla folder in her gloved hands and approached Nanami’s desk. She smelled of antiseptic, the scent overpowering the blueberry perfume she spritzed on her neck every morning, but the odor had been familiarized to Nanami. She, herself, had reeked of it during the early months of the Tragedy.

Bandages dyed in red hues covering one side of Kirigiri’s face caught Nanami’s attention. Her wound was still painfully fresh. Even now, two weeks after the Future Foundation’s own killing game, the poison which had nearly taken Kirigiri’s eye still afflicted her.

“How are you feeling?” Nanami asked, her mouth settling into a smile.

“Better. I’m following her instructions to the letter,” Kirigiri replied, sliding the folder across Nanami’s desk. “As you already know, Tsumiki-san sends her regards a thousand times over.”

Nanami bit her tongue. The phantom pain of invisible hands grabbing her shoulders and thrusting her into hard metal jostled her innards. Pursing her lips, she breathed out a sigh and opened the folder.

Countless letters spilled out. Each card was in different handwriting. Many were blotted with old tear stains, making the ink spread onto adjacent words. Depending on the writer, some sentences were curt, others long and flowery. Requests were made, apologizes were given, and drawings were scribbled in the margins, the crudely colored doodles trademarks of Mioda and Saionji’s messages.

“They’re doing well,” Nanami remarked, taking out a few photographs. “Koizumi-san’s?”

“She asked me to make sure you received them as an update,” Kirigiri replied, folding her arms across her chest. “Jabberwock Island really is a picturesque place. I’ve been told it only took them a few short weeks to fix it up after everyone woke up.”

Nanami swallowed. She spread the photographs across her paperwork and laptop. The smiling, carefree faces of her classmates pinched her nerve. They played volleyball on golden shores and devoured fresh meals with ripe ingredients. Hanamura laughed in his kitchen, the fire on the stove raging a deep blue under his pot as Mitarai, Togami, and Souda waited for dinner, drool wetting the latter’s lips. Under the shade of a palm tree, Sonia and Tanaka created a massive castle, his hamsters nestling on the roof. Behind them, Nidai and Owari clashed, the former blocking her powerful kicks. In one picture, Koizumi’s finger slipped into the frame. It was such an irregularity that Nanami paused to examine the photograph. Her eyes flicked up and down, searching for why Koizumi would make such a beginner’s error when she spotted the hint of a pink yukata sleeve in the corner.

“Ah, Saionji-san is still needy,” Nanami muttered, setting the picture aside.

She flipped through them like one would a report. Her eyes scanned the images and imprinted them to her memory. They guzzled wine in the restaurant, and she tasted strawberry sweetness on her tongue. They lounged in the hot sun, and she felt it burning through her layers of skin. Hinata won the high score of an arcade game in the lodge, and muscle memory dictated her fingers to press the invisible buttons on her desk, her brows furrowing when she noticed a stray enemy nearing his character.

“Are you okay?” Kirigiri asked, setting her hand on Nanami’s desk. She pushed the table lamp out of the way and narrowed her good eye.

Nanami nodded and scooped the photographs and cards into a messy pile. “Yes, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, it was just, well…” She tapped her temple. “...memories, I guess. I mean, memories of similar situations.”

She bowed her head, and the scars dotting her neck throbbed. Grimacing, Nanami chewed on her lower lip and shifted in her seat. She adjusted and readjusted herself, but comfort eluded her as her classmates smiled.

The click of Kirigiri’s high heels on the hardwood floor diverted Nanami from her malaise. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Kirigiri strut around her desk and collect her forearm crutches resting against the wall. Kirigiri took them, carefully wrapping her fingers around the smooth titanium base. She offered them to Nanami, head slightly tilted.

“Let’s take a walk around headquarters. I think we’ve both been inside for too long,” Kirigiri offered, a smile playing on her lips. When Nanami slipped her arms through the crutches and gripped the handles, Kirigiri smoothed a crease in her bandage. “I’ve been in the medical ward for a few too many hours today, and you’ve spent a few too many hours in your office. It’ll do us good to clear our heads.”

The bandage seemed wetter when Kirigiri touched it. With a soft rip, it unraveled at the corner, but Kirigiri pressed it down. She forced the adhesive to stick, and it obeyed.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Nanami asked, wobbling to her feet. She leaned forward, placing her weight onto the crutches.

“I am. I’ve already taken my dosage today.” Kirigiri wreathed her arm around Nanami’s waist and helped her maneuver around her desk. Her hand brushed across a scar, the leathery skin similar to the gloves she wore. She withdrew her palm, a flash of worry in her eyes. “Did that hurt?”

Slowly, Nanami shook her head. “No. If it’s a quick touch, then they don’t hurt.” She raised her head, gazing at the front door. “I think you’re right. I’ve definitely spent too much time sequestered in here.”

Her classmates and teachers grinned at her from the framed photograph. It was a picture of the class trip to Tokyo Nanami had personally sponsored with her winnings from video game tournaments. They stood in front of a traditional shrine, their yukatas prim and proper as a festival took place around them, lights bright, mood mirthful. She was in the middle next to Yukizome-sensei, who smiled so wide that Nanami could see every single one of her teeth. Yukizome-sensei’s arm was wrapped around her shoulder, her hand resting on her forearm, her fingers curling into Nanami’s soft green yukata.

“I remember what she said to me there,” Nanami said, hobbling over to the door. “She said, ‘Keep on keeping them together. You’re doing great.’”

“What a burden to put on a first year high school student,” Kirigiri remarked.

“I don’t think she had any ill intentions, but…” Nanami sighed. “...it was hard. It’s still hard to think about it.”

She traced the scar etched into her shoulder, the blood fresh and wet. It slicked her fingers and dribbled, lining the veins in her palm. She shuddered, pangs puncturing her midsection and heart, Yukizome-sensei’s eyes boring deep, dark holes into her.

Kirigiri clutched her hand and squeezed. Her good eye widened, her brow unevenly wrinkling. Stepping closer, she cupped Nanami’s shoulder, her pain dulling in an instant.

“You’re safe. We both are,” she affirmed, brushing stray hairs clinging off Nanami’s sweaty cheek behind her ear.

“We’re safe. I’m safe. We’re alive,” Nanami murmured, and she rested her forehead onto Kirigiri’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of her blueberry perfume.

As Kirigiri embraced her, Nanami knew time wouldn’t heal her wounds. They would throb and ache until her last gasp, but she would cope. She would live, breathe, move to the rhythm of the future. 

She threaded her fingers into Kirigiri’s blouse, closed her eyes, and smiled.


End file.
